The Accidental Apostate
by Asepsis
Summary: After an accident during a lesson in fire magic, a series of unfortunate events sends a young apprentice on the adventure of his life time! Action! Adventure! Perhaps a bit of romance! Original character Weylin, Cullen and the fem Mage Warden will appear!
1. Chapter 1: Lesson Gone Awry

**Author's Note: **Thanks to my BETA **Xmaster**! This is my first Dragon Age fanfic, been a couple years since I've written anything. I do not own anything Bioware, just a fan that loves the world!

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**Prologue**

**"Lesson Gone Awry"**

"Damn the day your Mother bore you!"

The Senior Enchanter slammed his staff against the ground, gripping it tightly with both hands to support his weight. He was quite upset, or constipated, Weylin could never tell and most days he honestly didn't care.

However, on this particular day, he was currently having a rather tough lesson in fire magic and was in no mood to anger Senior Enchanter Vortigern any further than he already had. Hence, much brown-nosing had ensued on his part.

"I'm sorry..."

Vortigern, ignoring Weylin, continued with his ranting, "I said, for the _umpteenth_ time, that you must concentrate. You do know the meaning of this word yes?"

The Enchanter's words were all perfectly clipped, his accent precise, which usually meant he was angry. Weylin swallowed a lump of disappointment; his day was not going to end well. He wondered how long it would be before the Enchanter whacked him across the head with his staff, _hopefully not too hard_, he was already plotting revenge against the Templars who would undoubtedly snicker at him when it happened.

_Perhaps I'll figure out a way to curse them, make them bleed from every orifice..._

Weylin chided himself, he'd never have the courage to do any real damage to the Templars. Hell, he thought, he couldn't do any real damage to them even if he wanted to. Weylin tried to ignore the bitterness he felt at the thought. He was the most ungifted apprentice_ he'd_ ever heard of, and he was fairly certain if he didn't clean up his act soon they'd probably make him Tranquil.

Weylin did _not_ want to be made Tranquil.

Swallowing what little pride he had, Weylin nodded at Vortigern, "Yes sir."

The fear of Tranquility looming over him, Weylin turned to face the pile of _"evil"_ books that were refusing to burn for him. Trying to ignore the fact that they were standing on one of the more shaky balconies of Kinloch Hold, Weylin found himself having a particularly hard time ignoring the extraordinarily sweaty Templar breathing down his neck.

_Why are Templars always so damn sweaty? Must be the armor..._

Squinting his eyes, he held his hands stiffly toward the pile of books and willed them to burn. He concentrated, he focused, and he was almost certain he was about to do it! Just as all around him became silent and all he could see were the books in front of him, there was a sudden crack in the air and his vision blurred, leaving a burning sensation which overpowered his skull.

"DAMN IT BOY YOU'RE NOT DOING IT RIGHT!"

Enchanter Vortigern shoved the stunned Weylin out of the way, allowing him to see that the Templars who had been observing his pathetic attempt at burning the books were nearly doubled over with laughter. Rubbing the sore spot on his head, Weylin fought the urge to kick the Templar nearest to him. He so very badly wanted to shove the Senior Enchanter off the balcony and watch him scream and writhe as he fell into the murky depths of the lake. Weylin half hoped the rumors were true about the various _dangerous _beasts that swam just below the surface of the lake. Oh what joy it would be to see the enchanter eaten by some extra large mackerel or squid. Weylin had overheard some of the other apprentices talking about the mutated fish they'd seen the Templars bring in, and some of them suggested the reason was because of all of Weylin's poorly mixed potions making their way into the water.

Weylin had been highly unamused.

Looking at his hands he was surprised to see there was no blood, although a few strands of his blond hair had come off into his palm. Seething with resentment at the Templar's good mood, Weylin watched with mock interest as Enchanter Vortigern gestured theatrically toward the pile of books, creating a perfect pillar of flame that began engulfing the pile.

"And that, _apprentice_, is how it's done." Vortigern spun on his heels and jutted his thumb over his shoulder at the raging fire behind him, "Clean this mess up, I expect you back to your dictation on the Tevinter Mages tonight."

Shoving one of the younger Templars out of the way with his staff, the Enchanter stalked past Weylin and left without another word.

"And that's how it's _done_." Weylin mimicked, once he was certain the old man was out of ear shot of course. Turning toward the books, Weylin crossed his arms waiting for the flames to die down.

"I wouldn't be mocking my teachers if I were you, _apprentice_." Bruce, the younger Templar warned.

Weylin hated Bruce, he was smug, arrogant, _sweaty_, but most of all he seemed to be under the sad impression that he was better than Weylin, which was a point of particular annoyance to the young apprentice. Weylin knew without a shadow of a doubt that Bruce had to be the stupidest most pathetic creation of the Maker he'd ever had the misfortune of encountering. For reasons unknown to him, Bruce always ended up watching over him during assignments, which annoyed Weylin greatly.

"Now, can't you speed this process up? We can't have an apprentice wandering the upper floors without supervision, and I haven't had my lunch yet." Bruce announced, scratching at a dirty spot on his breast plate. Weylin rolled his eyes and turned to face the unfortunate Templar,

"If you haven't already noticed, my magical abilities are akin to a menstruating field mouse. So unless you want me to piss on this fire until it goes out, we're going to have to wait until the fire dies down the good old fashioned way."

"Well that makes no sense," another Templar responded, "what does a menstruating field mouse have to do with magic?"

"I dunno, it just came to me."

"What's menstruating even mean?" Bruce inquired, genuinely confused.

"Oh Maker..."

"Seriously what does it mean?"

Weylin pinched the bridge of his nose and fought the urge to punch Bruce for his stupidity when a rather sudden and large gust of wind blew across the balcony. The once contained fire quickly spun of control. Half burnt pages went flying through the air, vengefully crashing into the Templar's faces and spilling over the balcony.

"Andraste's breath! Get this under control!" The lead Templar, Harin, commanded as he ran to the pile of books and began stomping on them, "We should have just tossed these into Lake Calenhad like I wanted!"

Bruce had taken off his helmet and was now bashing at the flames that spread to the robes of his armor, "Commander Greagoir said we must burn the apostate's literature lest it be summoned out of the lake!"

"Oh shut up Bruce I know! Gah!" Harin suddenly realized his hair had started to singe a bit and began panicking, slapping himself in an attempt to kill the flames.

Weylin, too busy laughing himself silly to care about the pain the men were going through, was doubled over at the far corner of the balcony slapping his knee in delight. Finally, revenge had come to him in this most unexpected time! The wind was blowing just enough to make him feel comfortable while the Templars opposite him were being taken down by half burned literature. Deciding that perhaps there really was a Maker after all, Weylin watched as some of the loose sheets of paper flew over the edges of the balcony and he silently hoped a few of them would return to their masters. Perhaps a few of the apostates out there might maim Bruce and Harin one day, and the thought brought a splendid calm to Weylin's soul.

In fact, he was so into his blissful fantasies he failed to notice the semi burnt piece of parchment that had snuck itself into the inner flap of his robes.

Harin's inner uniform suddenly caught fire. Harin, letting out an uncharacteristically high pitched squeal, ran toward the edge of the balcony and smashed himself repeatedly against the stone in a futile attempt to kill the flames.

"Let it be known that I shall never doubt the mercy of Andraste again!" Weylin declared, wiping tears of delight from his eyes.

Even though his magical abilities were sadly lacking, he did have enough skill to put the minor flames on Harin and Bruce out. However, he decided to allow the scene to play out as nature intended. Afterall, what harm would come from letting some Templars get a few burns? Smirking to himself, he quietly enjoyed the beautiful insanity of the situation until the commotion attracted the attention of a passing Enchanter. The flames were quickly silenced and the Enchanter even stayed around long enough to give Weylin a good thrashing for allowing the fire to get so out of hand. Weylin was then ushered back to the apprentice quarters, much to his own relief._  
_  
_It was totally worth it._

Smiling at the memory of the day's events, he couldn't help but chuckle quietly to himself. This earned him a powerful swat over the head from Vortigern, who was currently lecturing him on the Tevinter mages. Rubbing the sore spot, he decided nothing would kill the good mood he was in, not even a mind-splitting staff-induced head ache.

_Completely, utterly and unquestionably worth it._

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_**Thanks for reading! Please review! :D**_

_I actually replaced this chapter on 9/10/2010 with more changes. I'm going through and editing the other chapters as well, hopefully to fix some timeline issues and make them flow a little better story wise.**  
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	2. Chapter 2: Cullen

_**Author's Note:**_ I updated this chapter on 9/20/2010. Thanks to my BETA, **Xmaster**, you're the best! This chapter our dear Templar, Cullen, makes the first of his many appearances in this story.

**Chapter 2**

**"Cullen"**

The dictation went surprisingly well, with Weylin only making a few mistakes while reciting his lesson to Vortigern. If he could carry on like this he might not be made Tranquil after all, and the thought brought a confident smile to his lips.

It must have shown on his face because his lovely mentor made sure to swat him over the head a few times to keep him from getting too arrogant, _'One must never become too arrogant, lest the spirits of the fade be drawn to thee like a beacon!'_ he'd say. Weylin would then nod and readily agree with the Senior Enchanter, which earned him another hit or two for brown-nosing.

_There is no pleasing this man..._

Falling into bed, Weylin sighed in relief at the day's end. His bunk mate had already fallen asleep and was snoring loudly above him, much to his dismay. He usually made a point of getting to bed _before_ Camlen did, but the damn elf had beaten him today. He blamed Vortigern for keeping him so long, as always. Grabbing the pillow Weylin tried to drown out the sound of Camlen's snoring with little success.

_If being Tranquil means I can sleep in the quiet rooms I just may do it._

Pulling the pillow away from his face, he was greeted by a woman's, not inches from his own. Weylin nearly jumped off his bed in fright.

"Andraste's beard!" Weylin popped up, banging his head on the bunk above him, "Damn!"

"Sorry to frighten you Wey. Are you all right?" Branda made to reach for Weylin's head but he moved out of her way, he wasn't in the mood for her concern.

Seemingly unaffected by Weylin's rejection, he noticed bitterly, Branda continued,"Listen, I wanted to show you something I think you'd find interesting."

Weylin squinted his eyes suspiciously at the excited girl. She had been uncharacteristically fond of him ever since he "defended" her against one of Vortigern's outbursts. The reality of the situation had been that Weylin had happened to walk between the two while reading a book, completely unaware of the unfolding situation. Stopping between Branda and the ever vengeful staff of the Senior Enchanter to flip a page, he had taken the blow aimed at Branda full on in the head. Of course he blacked out and awoke half naked being cared for by the young girl, why she stripped him down to his small clothes was beyond him. Nevertheless, he had been grateful someone had taken the time to give a rat's fart about him.

Although Branda was a bit plain, and wide around the hips, she had a strangely welcoming red face that reminded Weylin of someone he knew when he was a child. Who that person was he couldn't quite remember clearly, he had been taken by the Templars when he was only four years old, and his family never tried to contact him after, at least not that he knew of.

All in all, Branda brought comfort to him and the fact that she was the only other apprentice in the tower that realized he existed, and did _not_ make him suffer for it probably had something to do with it. On occasions such as these though, he did find her a tad annoying.

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop sneaking up on me like that Branda? And Maker's fart what is on your face?" Weylin blurted out, pointing at the thick green mask coating Branda's face.

"A medicinal paste, Enchanter Shaela said it would calm the red tint to my skin."

"Oh."

Weylin raised an eyebrow, he doubted whatever Enchanter Shaela came up with was worth half a crap, but he kept the thought to himself.

"Just come and see this! It's so very awesome Wey!"

Cringing at the nickname, he ignored it, "What is it? Another one of your talking rat friends?"

Branda rolled her eyes, giving Weylin a glare that would scare the scales off of the Arch Demon. Sighing, Weylin gave in and got out of the bunk.

"Lead the way."

"You won't regret this, I promise."

"You better make sure we don't get caught sneaking around this late."

Grabbing his arm, she proceeded to drag him out of the room and down the hall.

They barely made it past the first door when they bumped into none other than Cullen.

_Damn..._

Cullen had been particularly cruel to the apprentices after the whole "_abomination fiasco"_ as Weylin called it. He thought this to be unfortunate since Cullen was about the only Templar who _used_ to treat him like a normal human being. The event had taken place only two years prior, and Weylin had only been sixteen at the time, which might have accounted for why he didn't quite take the event so seriously nor fully understand how Cullen could have such a drastic change in personality. With teenage boys being all bravado and bad taste, Weylin never quite comprehended why all of the other mages looked back on the time with so much distaste. Had he not been such a weakling he might have considered learning a bit of blood magic himself. The fact that the blood mages had taken out so many Templars on the way also seemed like a good thing to Weylin.

Of course, they had killed a few mages as well, not that any of them were Weylin's friends _(far from it)_ but the idea that they'd turn on their own kind was a bit disturbing. The whole becoming an abomination thingy was also a bit off putting to him. Weylin immediately decided, upon seeing one of the corpses removed from the tower that he'd never want to be one of those things. Shaking his head to quell the sudden flood of memories, Weylin licked his lips nervously and gazed sideways at Branda. A bit of her face mask was peeling and she seemed just as frozen as he was by Cullen's sudden appearance.

"What, in the name of the Maker, are you doing out of your rooms?" Cullen's eye twitched, his jaw clenching, Weylin immediately decided it was probably best to brown nose some more.

"Well, uh, honorable Templar Cullen..." he began, his voice quivering. Weylin mentally cursed himself, why he was such a coward he didn't know, "...Branda was just about to show me an interesting book on the Templar/Mage experience during the pivotal years after the death of our holy Mother Andraste."

Branda seemed to catch onto Weylin's bluff, although anyone who knew Weylin would tell you there was no way in the world he'd ever honestly refer to Andraste as his holy Mother.

"Yes ser, tis a very interesting read. Illustrating the ways our two people have gotten along so famously...good.", she gulped, unconsciously scooting closer to Weylin and grabbing his arm for support._  
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_I can't protect you worth a poo! _Weylin thought, but did not stop her.

"Really," Cullen seemed to think about what the two had said, "why is it I get the impression that you're both lying to me?"

Without warning Weylin felt a searing pain across his cheek, stumbling backwards it took him a moment to realize Cullen had slapped him across the face.

_Well that hurt like a Mother._

Rubbing his cheek he cautiously turned his gaze to Cullen, who was now rounding on Branda, he seemed to forget that Weylin was even there._  
_  
_Me? Forgotten? Why am I not surprised?_

"You bitch! Always causing trouble!" Cullen yelled, "I see you sneaking around at night, going in the library when you think no one is looking!"

Pulling a wad of papers out of his waist pouch, Cullen grabbed Branda by the neck and threw her to the ground, the papers following suit,

"You've been communicating with apostates!"

Weylin would later think on this incident and recall how he distinctly remembered feeling his jaw hit the ground. Branda and apostates was something he never thought he'd hear in the same sentence. Yet here he was, in a less then flattering situation with Branda, a whole pile of suspicious writings and a highly twitchy Templar._  
_  
_This is not going to end well._

"Ser Cullen I'm sure this is a mistake!" Weylin yelled, unintentionally high pitched. He made no move to step between Branda and the Templar though, he was no fool and he did not wish to be thrashed again.

"Not from apostates! They're letters from my Mother!" Branda looked up at Cullen, her hair a mess and a large hand print in her face paste.

"You see! Letters from her Mother! Now we can all go to bed and forget this ever happened!" Weylin interjected, accepting Branda's excuse for the time being he made a mental note to discuss the matter with her later. Cullen was quiet for a moment before he burst into laughter. Weylin was chilled to the bone. It was the laughter of a mad man and he was getting the distinct feeling that Cullen didn't really care what the papers were, he was looking for vengeance.

"Letters from your Mother? What's the strange language they're written in then? I doubt a common Ferelden whore would be so smart as to invent a secret code of writing."

"DO NOT SPEAK OF MY MOTHER LIKE THAT, TEMPLAR!" Branda suddenly appeared much more frightening than Weylin had ever seen her, he unconsciously took a step back.

"My Mother is the daughter of Bann Sighard! Although I may be a commoner here, the blood that runs through my veins is infinitely better than your lyrium laced bastard taint!"

Impressed, Weylin suddenly found himself far more attracted to Branda then he'd ever been. He noted it was probably just the power of the situation, but there was something about insulting a Templar that got him all hot and bothered. It also made him feel brave. If this timid sixteen year old girl could back talk one of the more vicious Templars of Kinloch Hold, so could he! A smart young man like himself should be able to do what he pleases!

He made to insult Cullen, tell him he smelled of old cheese and garlic. He also thought mentioning the recent lop sided nature of his beard would be good too.

However, his cowardice got the better of him and he kept his mouth shut._  
_  
_Pathetic Weylin, just pathetic._

Cullen seemed to notice the conflict of emotion play across his face, "Cat got your tongue? Or are you just being the coward you usually are?"

Weylin felt his cheeks burn red, he wanted nothing more than to tear Cullen's throat out, or watch Branda tear Cullen's throat out, either one would be acceptable in the current situation he thought.

"No ser. We apologize."

Was all he managed to squeak out. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Branda throw him a disgusted look. She was disappointed in him, he was disappointed in himself, he knew that. He also knew that this was no time to provoke death when it so readily thrusted it's claws at them both.

Death being Cullen.

The Templar smirked at Branda, who was currently burning with rage that Weylin swore he could feel, "You will be reported for contacting this royal Mother of yours."

"Yes ser." She muttered, her fists clenched at her sides.

"Now back to your rooms before I decide you're both too much trouble to be kept alive." Turning to leave, Weylin was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he noticed Cullen stop in his tracks.

"What is that?" The Templar asked, pointing at the lower half of Weylin's body.

"What?" Looking down, Weylin noticed a piece of parchment protruding from his robes.

_What the?_

Snatching the paper out of the fold in his robes, Weylin examined it.

He felt his heart stop beating.

It was slightly burnt at the edges, it was written in...dare he say blood? Oh no, this was bad. This was very bad. Cullen seemed to sense the chill in the air, he quickly stalked over to Weylin and snatched the paper from his hand. The Templar's nostrils flared as he held the parchment to his eyes, his face mottled with rage. An odd silence descended upon the trio. The only sound being the recently lit torches roaring along the hall walls.

Weylin was fairly certain he was about to be made Tranquil, or die. He suddenly thought being Tranquil wouldn't be so bad. At least he wouldn't be dead.

What was he thinking? Of course being made Tranquil was bad. He _would_ rather die! Emotions were the only thing he had that brought him some enjoyment in life, being without them was almost too impossible to imagine.

No, he'd rather die, he'd rather fight, he'd rather be anywhere but where he was.

Deciding he wanted to make a run for it, Weylin half ran backwards with the ill fated plan of his escape buzzing in his head. Unbeknownst to him however, Branda had sensed danger as well and managed to quietly move behind Weylin. Not noticing the girl, he collided with Branda sending them both tumbling to the ground in a rather theatrical manner.

"Oh damn it Branda why must you sneak!" Weylin yelled, trying to push himself off of the girl smooshed beneath him.

"I'm sorry! I was scared!" Branda yelled, her hands to her mouth.

The resulting commotion seemed to have snapped Cullen back to reality, because without another word the note fell from his fingertips and his sword was drawn. His eyes seemed to change a few shades of brown as well, before he roared.

Literally roared.

Weylin suddenly found himself at his feet again, preparing to run when he felt Branda's grip on his leg, "Don't leave me! Help me up! I think you twisted my ankle!"

Jerking his leg away from Branda, Weylin felt nothing but rage towards the girl. After all, this whole thing was her fault. Had she not awoken him and dragged him out of bed he might have found that little apostate note in his robes in the morning and burnt it before anyone knew better. Yet here he was, a murderous Templar raging behind him and the reason for it all begging him for help. HA! She was a fool.

"You're on your own! You dragged me into this!"

Without a second glance to the unfortunate girl Weylin bolted straight for the Senior Mages quarters. Maybe if he could rouse some of the Senior Enchanters they could calm Cullen down, he could explain what must have happened _(The note catching onto his robes during his dutiful burning of the apostate literature)_ and he would be spared. Perhaps even Branda would understand why he had to leave her. Why did he suddenly care what Branda thought about him?

He cursed himself, he was such a fool. He had just left his only friend to the mercy of Cullen, of all the Templars in the Circle Tower he had left her with _Cullen_. Weylin felt dirty, no wonder the others wanted nothing to do with him. He was a royally selfish bastard, and it was painfully obvious to everyone around him. Groaning loudly, Weylin did a 180 and sped back to the scene of the encounter. He wasn't quite sure what he would do, _perhaps die_, but at least Branda would know he hadn't left her...the whole time. He hoped she would understand why he ran; she would have run too in his position.

_No, she probably wouldn't have_. He thought bitterly.

Branda was the bravest girl in the tower, perhaps it was because she had to do everything for herself. The pretty girls always had the men doing things for them.

Turning the corner, Weylin felt the breath knocked out of him, the sight in front of him was too grotesque to stomach.

Cullen was kneeling over Branda, his sword laying forgotten a few feet away, punching the poor girl in the face. He looked insane, screaming words Weylin could barely make out. Blood covered his armor and face, his words getting louder and louder. Weylin did the only thing he could think of at the time, he ran toward the Templar and kicked him in the side of the head. Caught off guard, the raging Templar fell to the side giving Weylin just enough time to grab Branda's limp body and begin dragging her away. Not realizing it, Weylin had let out a rather high pitched yell while charging at Cullen. The siren pierced through the stone walls and wooden doors of the tower, waking the apprentices.

Dragging Branda backwards, he realized he was making rather poor time. If Cullen decided to come for them now, there was no way he could get them both to safety. Looking up, Weylin noticed a few apprentices entering the halls, sleepily gazing around for the cause of their rude awakening.

Cullen seemed to regain his senses as well, slowly standing up, he grabbed the sword at his side. Grinning madly, his pupils dilated as he gazed at the hall filling around him. The sudden appearance of so many apprentices in the hallway seemed to steal Cullen's attention away from Weylin and Branda.

"Fine! FINE! You abominations have begged for such a quick death and I shall grant it!" Cullen began spinning around, attempting to keep his eyes on all of the apprentices at once. Weylin wasn't a fool, he'd seen a few apprentices go wonky in his time and Cullen was getting that same crazy look in his eyes. He took the opportunity to keep dragging Branda as far away from the mad man as possible, hopefully they'd be able to find somewhere to hide until this whole damn catastrophe blew over.

"You will NEVER hurt another innocent again!" Turning around, Cullen began madly striking at anything fleshy around him, a young man was quickly cut down.

As the young apprentice hit the floor, Weylin froze. Had he just seen what he thought he'd seen? Oh this was much more horrifying than he thought possible. Weylin felt the air in the hall become suddenly thicker, the metallic smell of Branda's blood and the young man's seemed to snap the other apprentices out of their sleep induced haze. Cullen had finally lost it, after much betting and discussion on when they all thought the Templar was going to go crazy it never occurred to them that he actually _would _go crazy. Although he had changed drastically since the abomination fiasco, everyone except the new children still thought of Cullen as the timid once sympathetic Templar they had used to care for. They were all hoping he'd return to his senses eventually, so few Templars at Kinloch Hold were as kind as he used to be and they missed him.

Weylin realized that this hope of theirs would never happen, not after this.

"Die apostate bastards!" Cullen screamed, stabbing a fleeing Elf in the gut before charging after another apprentice who attempted to hurtle a cone of fire at him, which he easily dispelled. Screaming, and the sound of all the spells the apprentices could muster were soon filling the hall, and Weylin could barely hear himself think.

Deciding now was probably the best time to get away from Cullen, Weylin resumed his escape with Branda. He refused to look down at the girl, afraid he might not be unable to stomach the damage that had been inflicted upon her.

_Just get her to the Healers, they can help her. Mother Sophia can help her..._

A cold feeling settled in Weylin's gut, if he wasn't able to get Branda to the healers soon he knew what would happen, and it would have been all his own fault.

_Just hold on Branda..._

**~ END CHAPTER 2 ~**

**Thanks for reading this far if you have, please review! I'll be editing the other chapters later as well. :)**


	3. Chapter 3: Cleansed

**A/N:** Thanks to my BETA, **Xmaster, **for helping me improve I appreciate it!!! Also thanks to everyone who put the story on their alert list!

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**Chapter 3**

**"Cleansed"**

Weylin continued to drag Branda down the hall until he bumped into the First Enchanter. The commotion in the apprentice quarters had apparently woken most of the Tower. The Templars and Mages were scurrying past him without a second glance, their staffs and swords drawn.

Irving was the only one who seemed to hear his cries for help.

"Maker! What's happened?!?" Irving yelled, nearly shoving Weylin out of the way to pull Branda into his arms. Weylin suddenly felt like a weakling for being unable to lift her into his own arms.

"Cullen went insane! He started killing apprentices..." Weylin's voice cracked a little as he noticed Branda's blood on his hands. He wiped them on his robes and looked away.

The expression on Irving's face suggested he thought there was more to the story, but he didn't ask, Weylin was thankful.

"The others will take care of Cullen, we need to take this poor child to the Mother right away." Irving threw Branda over his shoulder, "This will take more than magic to heal..." Without another word the First Enchanter sped off toward the healer's room. Weylin followed closely, he wasn't going to let Branda out of his sight again.

_I'll never leave you again Branda, never._

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_

The First Enchanter wasted no time knocking and merely blew the door of Mother Sophia's room open with a wave of his palm. Understandably, the Mother was furious until she saw the reason for such behavior. Rushing to the Enchanter the Mother quickly examined Branda and had Irving bring her into the bedroom. Weylin found himself shoved to the side as they laid her on the Mother's bed. Before he had time to reach her Mother Sophia shoved him out of the room, locking the door behind her.

Weylin felt useless.

He tried knocking on the door, tried pushing it open, but to no avail. He resigned himself to pressing his ear against the thick wood, listening to any sounds from within the room. All he could hear were the mumblings of the First Enchanter and disapproving words here and there from the Mother. This was all going very badly, how had he let this get so out of control?

_I'm a coward, that's how this all went so out of control._

_But Branda was the one who dragged me out of bed!_

_Then I left her with Cullen._

Biting his nails, he stood up and began pacing. Not knowing if she was going to make it was killing him. He wished that he'd stayed and allowed Cullen to bash him to death with the sword instead of Branda, because the feeling he had now was unbearable.

Was it guilt? Or was it anger over the fact that Cullen had hurt his only friend? He didn't know, and he didn't care. The only thing he wanted right now was for the horrible feeling pulling at his insides to go away.

Footsteps drew Weylin's attention to the outer door just as Templars began filing into the room, all of them oddly silent. In fact, everything seemed oddly silent now that he thought about it. Whatever trouble was going on in the apprentice quarters must of died down.

Had Cullen been caught? Weylin hoped so for Branda's sake, the damned Templar deserved to be killed.

Hearing the clanking of armor tore him out of his reverie, looking at the Templars, the leader of the pack took off his helmet. A shiny head of graying brown hair with a drab looking face greeted him, the Knight-Commander's expression was unreadable, but the anger in his eyes was unmistakable.

_Oh...shit._

Weylin's hand dropped from his mouth and he smiled nervously at the Templars, "Commander Greagoir...um...what are you all doing here?"

_They're here to thrash you, you dolt!_

"I think you know apprentice."

Weylin wasn't quite sure why all of these Templars were rounding on him, or what Commander Greagoir was talking about. The only thing he was fairly certain about was that they were angry about something, and it seemed to be directed at him.

But why?

He suddenly remembered Cullen. Had the Templar ratted on him? No, Cullen wasn't coherent enough to blab about the note in his robes, he was a crazy man that no one could possibly believe.

Yet, the glares he was currently receiving gave him a sickening feeling that something terrible was about to happen.

_Damn you Cullen..._

"Well, ahh...." Weylin tried to assess the situation, devise an escape route, but the plan was shot out of his mind almost immediately. What would he do? Where would he go? He'd been living in the Circle Tower since he could remember, and knew nothing of the outside world. The only thing he knew was that his chances of survival were non-existent, slim at best.

On top of that, he couldn't swim.

"Weylin," The Commander started again, unsheathing his sword. Weylin felt the blood rush to his head, dizziness threatening to overtake him. Why was Greagoir unsheathing his sword? Oh this couldn't possibly be a good sign. Had all of the Templars gone insane? Greagoir's sword seemed awfully sharp from where he was standing...

"Do not resist," The Greagoir repeated, noticing the look of panic that flashed across the young apprentice's face, "come with us calmly and no harm will come to you."

Unsure of what to do, Weylin suddenly found himself extremely frightened. Was the Knight-Commander threatening him? This had to be a joke. He had done nothing but obey Greagoir from day one. They occasionally even exchanged pleasantries when they passed one another, yet now the Commander was going to turn on him? Was he really going to believe the words of "Crazy Cullen" over him?

Weylin couldn't believe that the Commander thought now would be an appropriate time to drag him away from Branda, when she needed him most.

How dare they try and force him away from her? She could be dying for all he knew, and they didn't seem to care. These bastards were fools! Instead of punishing Cullen like they should be, they were coming after him! He had to know why, he needed to understand what made him the bad guy.

_They dare corner me?_

"Why? I've done NOTHING wrong here! I can't leave her! My friend is dying because of...because..." The fear that Weylin had moments before suddenly turned into rage, the pale skin of his face burned bright red and his blood boiled, "BECAUSE OF YOU DAMN TEMPLARS!!!"

Greagoir's expression looked momentarily surprised at his outburst, the Templars behind Greagoir made to rush toward Weylin but he signaled for them to hold their ground.

"This is not our fault, had you both not provoked Cullen, Branda would nev-"

"We didn't provoke that bastard! He attacked us on false accusations!"

"False you say? After the abomination infes-"

"The man is insane! Whatever he told you is a lie!"

"He is not why we are here! He told us NOTHING!"

"You...WHAT?!?"

Weylin was suddenly confused. So it wasn't Cullen behind the vulture like behavior of the Templars in front of him now? Very interesting.

"Why are you after me Commander?" Weylin asked, sincerely curious. Some of the red tint in his face diminished but the seething anger at the Templars he was feeling was refusing to subside. He noticed Bruce to the left of him, he cringed in disgust at the unfortunate man.

Greagoir squeezed the hilt of his sword, preparing for any sudden movements from Weylin. Why the lead Templar was being so vigilant against him was beyond Weylin, he knew his skills were sadly lacking and he knew the Commander knew the same.

"Do not play stupid! You're bunk mate told us everything!!!" Greagoir yelled, aggravation evident in his tone. He seemed extremely agitated, which usually meant he was on the verge of an apoplectic episode.

"What?!?!" Weylin felt like spitting, Camlen was the reason for this? It wasn't surprising. The elf had made no secret of his disdain for Weylin. Why the Elf hated him so much he wasn't quite sure, but he suspected it might have had something to do with his constant complaining about his snoring.

_Well damn, you're royally screwed Weylin._

"Camlen hates me! You're going to believe what he says?!?"

"A few other apprentices have verified his statement. You were hiding apostate literature in your robes!"

"I WAS NOT! IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!!!" Weylin was beyond pissed off. How dare they believe those lying, bastard, fool apprentices over him?

"Like it was an accident that you abandoned young Branda to the mercy of Cullen once you were revealed, apostate?" Greagoir challenged, it wasn't a question.

Weylin was stunned, how dare the bastard bring that up? Everything suddenly became one dimensional, and all he could do was quake with rage. He stopped breathing, he couldn't think anymore. All he could see was red, all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears and somewhere in the back of his mind he could see Branda's blood on his hands.

It was on now.

He charged at the Knight-Commander with his fist raised...

...and smashed it into the man's face, a burst of flame spurting from his fist upon contact.

_Whoa!_

Surprising himself, Weylin watched with horrified fascination as the Knight-Commander recoiled from the hit, flying into the Templars behind him in a pathetic heap of metal and flesh.

_What have you done!?! Oh Maker you're screwed!_

"I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!" Weylin screamed, suddenly realizing what he'd done. His temper had gotten the best of him, which had never happened before, surly Greagoir would understand and be merciful.

Before he had time to beg for forgiveness, or even cower in fear, Weylin found himself surrounded by a blinding white light unlike anything he'd ever seen before. The momentary blindness was quickly followed by the feeling of a thousand tiny fish hooks pulling at his insides, his vision began to fail him, and his eyes felt like they were going to pop out of his skull. Weylin decided that this had to be the worst thing he'd ever felt in his entire life, Vortigern's beatings included.

Without warning, he felt the energy sucked out of him, his lungs imploding inside his chest.

Wondering if he had just fallen into the Black City, he was certain nothing in Thedas could possibly feel so terrible...

...and then he fainted.

**~ End Chapter 3 ~**

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**Review please! Thanks again Xmaster, you're the best!!!**  
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	4. Chapter 4: The Templar and the Witch

_**Author's Note:** This is where the story starts to get interesting, a thousand thanks to my BETA, **Xmaster**, again! Also, thanks for the favorite **SGTConlin**! _

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**Chapter 4  
The Templar and the Witch**

Branda's eyes fluttered open.

The room was dark, but warm, and somewhere in the corner she could see the outline of a person.

"Who's there? Weylin?"

There was a ruffling of cloth and a candle was lit.

Her heart sank.

It was Mother Sophia, Branda shuddered inwardly. The woman was pleasent enough, until she began regurgitating her Chantry teachings. Branda wasn't a big fan of the Chantry.

"You're awake! You've recovered faster then I thought you would."

The Mother lit a few more candles, giving the room a healthier glow. Branda shielded her eyes, "Ahh, what happened?"

The Mother pulled a chair to the edge of the bed and sat beside Branda.

"You can't remember?"

"No."

"You were injured. You're lucky Enchanter Irving found you and Weylin when he did, or you might not have...well let's not dwell on that."

"Weylin, what happened to him?!? Is he all right?" Branda interjected, scanning the room and half expecting the young man to pop out of the shadows and greet her.

The Mother fiddled with the edge of her sleeve for a moment, "Weylin dragged you away from the melee and the First Enchanter brought you here right away, you were near death."

"This doesn't look like the infirmary, and you still haven't answered my question." Branda was too worried about Weylin to care about what happened to her, she'd figure that out later.

"I was closer to the scene of the...incident at the time, and the Enchanter was certain you wouldn't last long enough for him to drag you to the infirmary."

"You still haven't told me what happened to Weylin! And what melee?!"

"Perhaps it's best if you're moved to the infirmary first." The Mother stood up and edged around the bed toward the door.

Branda eyed the Mother suspiciously,"Tell me now Mother! Is he all right?"

"Well, what you need to understand is-"

"I don't have time for this!" She muttered, hopping out of the bed, she suddenly realized she was in her small clothes. "Oh!"

Grabbing the sheet she quickly covered herself with it.

"Where do you think you're going?" The mother blurted out.

"To find Weylin!"

"You need to rest! You nearly died, you were saved only by the mercy of the Maker!"

"Well I'm not dead, and please Mother I don't want to hear anything else about the damn Maker!"

Clutching her chest, the Mother fell back into the chair as if Branda had stabbed her with a sword.

Feeling guilty for upsetting the elderly woman, Branda quickly spotted her tattered robes in the hamper and threw them on, "I'm sorry Mother, but I've got to find him."

Turning to leave, she bumped face first into a rather hard breast plate.

"Ouch!" Branda looked up at the Templar before her, "Carroll?!?"

"Oh be quiet woman! You'd think you never saw a Templar in your life."

The momentary shock of seeing Carroll was replaced with embarrassment, Branda quickly lowered her gaze and hoped the Mother didn't notice the tone of impropriety on her voice.

"Oh be gentle with the girl! She is still recovering from severe head injuries, forgive her if she says foolish things!" Mother Sophia gently patted Branda on the head.

_Head trauma? Explains the headache..._

"Yes, yes. Fine Mother!" The Templar sighed, "Anyway," Carroll reached out and grabbed Branda by the arm, "I'll just be taking the mage now."

"You will not! She has just woken up, give her a few moments to regain her footing."

"She seems fine to me."

"Perhaps to the untrained eye!"

Glancing at the Mother, than back at Carroll, Branda decided it was best to just stay out of the argument. She always seemed to make things worse when she tried calming people down, and the two people currently fighting over her seemed to be preparing for a fist fight.

There was also a small part of her that found the whole incident extremely funny.

"Sorry Mother, but Commander's orders." Carroll responded as he gently pried the Mother away from Branda, and then dragged her from the room. The Mother cursed, frustrated at being dismissed so easily, before she slammed the door shut.

As soon as the door locked, Carroll grabbed Branda and squeezed her in the most awkward hug of her life.

"Stop Carroll! The Mother might see!"

"I don't care!"

Shoving Carroll away, Branda tried to compose herself, "I'm fine."

"Maker's golden toilet I was worried! We all thought Cullen had killed you, and Weylin an apostate! Never would have guess-"

"Wait what!?!"

_Why can't I remember anything?_

"Tell me what happened now!" Sophia ordered.

Carroll sighed, "I was just about to!"

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Weylin slowly woke to the sound of water dripping on stone, each droplet sending a shock-wave of pain through his brain.

"Ugh..."

Rolling onto his back, he stared up at the stone ceiling, it was barely visible in the darkness. Somewhere in the distance he thought he could see a torch, but where-ever he was there was just enough light to keep him from being completely blind.

_Where am I?_

Standing up, he pushed on his temple to try and alleviate some of the pain. The last thing he remembered was being surrounded by a very unpleasant white light, right after punching Greagoir in the jaw.

_Well he shouldn't have tried to force me from Branda!_

_Oh who am I kidding I'm just stupid!_

Looking around, he figured by the slimy walls, leaking ceiling and the heavy metal bars in front of him that he had been thrown in some dungeon under the Circle Tower.

The thought of being under Lake Calenhad caused him to shiver.

Approaching the bars, he cautiously touched them. Nothing happened, he sighed in relief, he wouldn't have put it past the Templars to have the Mages enchant their own prisons.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" He called through the bars. It might have been a bad idea to try and get the attention of an angry Templar but he didn't care. He wanted to make sure they weren't planning on leaving him to rot down there forever.

There was silence, but he saw the torch move further down the hall. He groaned, this didn't look good.

_At least I'm not Tranquil._

Kicking the bars, he suddenly felt a shockwave of pain shoot up his leg. He screamed and fell backwards.

"Makers piss!" Weylin cursed, grabbing his foot.

_Well I guess they enchanted the bars after all._

Closing his eyes, he bit his bottom lip and punched the stone floor. He was beyond pissed right now, and the fact his foot was hurting wasn't helping.

"Weylin?"

His eyes shot up, there was someone by the bars, but it was too dark to see their face.

"What do you want?!?!"

"Oh, well you could be more grateful you know, I'm about to braek you out!" The man yelled, "You might want to step back."

Weylin was stunned for a moment, but he heeded the warning, limping to the back of the cell he pressed himself as close to the wall as he could.

"I'm standing back." Weylin muttered, he wondered if the man was planning to blow the bars away, or if he was just a Templar playing a joke on him.

_Probably the latter, damn Templars..._

Through the shadows, he saw the man move, a second later that familiar white light engulfed the first half of the cell. Weylin yelped, half expecting the pain he'd endured earlier.

_Cleansing, of course!_

As soon as the light appeared, it vanished. The cell felt strangely warm, and Weylin ran back to the bars.

"Who are you?"

The man snorted, "You're lord and savior!" He waved over his shoulder. A young woman peaked from around the corner and ran toward the bars.

Even in the darkness Weylin could see the glow of her bright red cheeks.

"Branda?!"

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**Next chapter: Escape!**


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